


a distorted image of oneself

by seroquel (smallredboy)



Category: House M.D.
Genre: Abusive Relationships, BDSM, Blindfolds, Coercion, Consent Issues, Dissociation, F/M, Gaslighting, Hopeful Ending, Kneeling, M/M, Multi, Non-Sexual Submission, Not Safe Sane and Consensual, Past Child Abuse, Semi-Canonical Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-29
Updated: 2019-09-29
Packaged: 2020-11-07 16:37:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20820449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smallredboy/pseuds/seroquel
Summary: "Yeah, why would you want to be in a relationship with someone that’s so obviously only going to lead to pain?"A look at the relationship between Chase and the woman he dated who enjoyed getting burned.





	a distorted image of oneself

**Author's Note:**

> for 15woes with the prompt 'abusive relationships', and badthingshappenbingo with the square 'blindfolded'.
> 
> i'm emo.
> 
> enjoy!

“I don’t want to hit you,” Chase insists, voice wavering.

Emma smiles up at him, that sweet grin that once made him weak with the need to kiss her. “Robbie,” she says, like she’s talking to a child, “it’s going to be fine. I  _ like  _ it, Robbie. I’ll be thanking you. It won’t be the end of the world.” She leans up to grab his arm, squeezing at it gently. “You’ll be fine. We have all the implements, all the time, you shouldn’t go backing away now, love.”

Chase draws in a shaky breath. “I just don’t want to…” he starts, trailing off. He doesn’t want to be like his father, to be looming over someone with a belt in his hand, talking about all their wrongdoings. It’s too close, even if Emma wants it, even if she’s asking him to do it. And he wants to please her, really, he does—

“Robbie,” she shushes him once again, kissing him. “It’ll be okay. You can take care of me afterward.”

He nods. “Okay,” he says. “Okay.”

As he holds up the belt, tears prick at his eyes. But he has to satisfy Emma. He hits her, and his resolve cracks. He hits her, and oh God, he’s just like his father in every painful, pitiful way. Looking to be a doctor, hitting people, arrogant and narcissistic and noncommittal and— he’s just like him. He’s just like him.

Throughout it all, he’s away from his body. He’s barely there, quiet as he gives Emma what he wants. He pulls his pants down, rubs her back as he gives her what she wants. She praises him, tells him she deserved to get hit, and he doesn’t listen. He’s seeing his father there, smiling, because the cycle of abuse is endless, inescapable, and he’s the abuser. He’s the abuser and oh, his father is just oh so proud of him.

Emma slips out the door as soon as she’s able to, and Chase rushes to the bathroom. 

The mirror tells him all he needs to know, and seeing his own image makes him crash back down into reality. A sob escapes his mouth as he clings onto the sink, his head spinning. He hit her. He hit her. She wanted to be hit and she’s gorgeous, always asking, always telling him what she wants, and what can he do besides oblige? What can he do except give it to her, even if the thought of leaving burns in another person makes him sick?

She’s just asking for a little favor. She’s not asking for the world. As his boyfriend, he should give her all of the favors in the world, give her the moon and the stars. She asks for him to dominate her, so he does— she asks for him to burn her, so he does. As much as she notices how his eyes go glassy, how his soul separates from his body, she never says a thing. He can go out of his body at will during these situations, when he’s too overwhelmed with crushing guilt over what he is doing to her, what he’s doing to himself to deal with it.

It always comes crashing back down, though. 

Once, he’s rushing to the bathroom once again, his eyes red with tears. He can’t take it anymore— his reflection has the most disgusting man he has ever seen. He punches it, and blood drips down his knuckles, shards of glass cutting at his fingers. He looks at his hand, and then at the broken mirror. His image is broken, too. Distorted.

He manages a smile. It’s shaky, it’s broken, but it’s a smile nonetheless.

*******

“If you break up with me, I’ll tell everyone in that fucking community you abused me!” Emma yells.

Chase has his doubts, but he still goes on, relentless, “I didn’t abuse you!  _ You  _ abused me! You made me hit you, as much as I said I d-didn’t want to do that to you!”

“Oh, flipping the script, are we?” she says with a wicked smile, stepping closer to him, eyes glinting at him. For a moment, she doesn’t even look angry. She looks amused. Like this is all a game for her (he doesn’t know this at the moment, but it is. Oh, it is.) “You hit me no matter what I thought about it.”

“Don’t lie to my face about what you did to me—”

“Don’t  _ you  _ lie to my face about what you did to me!”

“Don’t fucking gaslight me, get out of my place!” Chase yells, as much as he hates yelling. As much as it reminds him of how he’s one step closer to him, to his father. “I don’t care if you tell them I abused you, I don’t care if I’m not welcome in any BDSM club in Australia! I don’t want any part in the subculture you forced me into!”

(Looking back at it, it is not particularly true, but he didn’t know that at the time. He hadn’t had a gentle hand on him, praising him, telling him he did such a good job, that he was such a good boy. Submitting is much better in the long-term, to let his brain shut off without pulling away from his body altogether.)

Emma scoffs. “You’re fucking pathetic,” she spits out as she rushes out of his place.

For the first time in a year and two months, Chase is at peace, or something close to it.

*******

“I need to ask you a favor,” Chase says as he steps into House’s office.

House raises a brow. “Are you finally asking me to dom you?” he drawls out.

Ever since the patient involved in BDSM (whose Domme knew Chase, too), House couldn’t stop asking questions and making jokes about Chase’s sexual history and sexual interests. Which he understood, yes, but it only made him think of Emma more and more. He didn’t have time to go and get someone to get him out of his head anymore, so he had to settle for House.

Not that there was much to settle for, per se— House is incredible. He’s just not his first choice in regards to such a personal matter.

“Something like that,” Chase admits. “I just need to get out of my head for a bit.” He sheepishly pulls a black blindfold out of his lab coat pocket, showing it to House. “You don’t have to do anything. I just want to kneel and get blindfolded.”

House stares at him for several seconds before he breaks off into a tiny smile. “You know how blackmail-worthy this is, right?”

“Yes, I do,” he says, sighing. “Look, if you don’t have any interest on it, that’s okay, I’ll—”

“Come here already, wombat,” he interrupts him.

Chase sucks in a breath and obeys, stepping closer to him and handing him the blindfold. He drops to his knees and settles right against House’s bad leg, leaning his body against it just a little. House hums as he slowly brings the cloth over his eyes, slipping it and securing it into place.

“Can you see anything?” he asks, a hand on his hair, almost petting him, but not quite.

“No,” he says.

“Good.”

He rubs at his scalp, and Chase relaxes against him, his whole body going lax with trust. House doesn’t mutter praises, but he doesn’t mutter meanness, either— he can take what he can get. As long as House indulges him, as long as someone can get his mind off what has happened to him, he’ll be fine.

He lets out a little happy sigh as he hears the tell-tale noise of House tapping at his keyboard, his free hand still at his hair, petting, rubbing, keeping him in check. Maybe House is not a bad choice for his catharsis.


End file.
